Swords and Staves
by Sabreene
Summary: Pairing: Dorian x Blackwall. More a serial than a chapter fic, with each "chapter" being a standalone ficlet on it's own. Dorian and Blackwall start to realize feelings, after a new book by Varric helps things along.
1. Swords & Staves

The hand on Blackwall's shoulder startled him, and the book went flying, landing with a loud _thump_ on the floor. A warm chuckle filled his ear. For a moment Blackwall swore he felt fingers sliding against his neck.

"Reading something interesting?" Dorian's laughing voice asked from behind him. Blackwall didn't have to glance up to know the look on the man's face. That damned eyebrow,.

"Just... uh... something from, er, by Varric," Blackwall cursed himself for stumbling over his words, and hoped the mage would chalk it up to embarrassment over reading drivel and not embarrassment over... well. He didn't want to finish that train of thought. Better he didn't have to explain himself. Blackwall stood to recover the book before Dorian could reach it.

"Oh? A little murder and mystery? Some thrilling tale of champions and heroic battles?"

Blackwall snagged the book from between two hay bales and tucked it into his jacket. "Something like that."

He turned back to find Dorian leaning against the nearest horse stall. It was a new horse, a tall regal breed from Tevinter. Blackwall suspected the Inquisitor had it brought especially for the mage. They had taken an immediate shine to one another, as if the horse knew they shared a homeland. Dorian had been down to the stables a lot since it arrived.

The horse whuffled against the nape of Dorian's neck, and for a moment a soft look of fondess passed across Dorian's face. Blackwall felt his lips twist into a smile, and coughed to cover it. It was rare to see Dorian without a mask of superiority, but the more he got to know the man, the more he realized that's all it was. A mask. Still-

"I never pegged you for someone who would care so for an animal," Blackwall raised his own eyebrow, "or the stables that go along with it."

"No? You fail to see how I would admire such a stallion of breeding and extreme beauty?"

The stallion shook it's head, as if it knew it was being spoken of, tossing a mane of shining, rich black hair.

"Ah," Blackwall said, "I see it now." His voice dripped with sarcasm, but he actually did see the resemblance. Not that he'd give Dorian the satisfaction of knowing so. Dorian liked to joke about being the product of fine breeding, but it didn't make it any less true. The man was... spectacular. Blackwall shifted his weight, foot to foot, aware they were just standing there. Looking at one another. "Well, I have to get back to..."

"Whittling?" Dorian stepped closer to him, and Blackwall froze, not expecting the warm, spicy scent of the man or how his closeness seemed to affect gravity. Dorian's hand took advantage to slip into his coat, retrieving the book faster than Blackwall thought imaginable. Though in hindsight, he should've expected it. He'd seen the mage move on the battlefield. Like a dancer, that one.

Dorian's handsome face looked confused, staring at the cover of the book, not too different from the time he'd eaten one of Sera's cookies. They'd been... odd. Not bad, just not what one expected from cookies.

"Is this new? I haven't... you're reading this?"

Dorian still stood too close to him, but Blackwall couldn't bring himself to take a step back.

"Varric finished it a few days ago. Asked me to read it."

"I see. And what do you think of it?"

They both stared down at the book in Dorian's hand, the cover very similar in style to Varric's _Swords &amp; Shields_ series. It even had a similar title. _Swords &amp; Staves._ There was one major change. The tall redheaded woman from the previous series had been replaced.

"I... it's interesting." Blackwall wondered if he was blushing. Thank the Maker for his beard.

"Is it?" Dorian's finger traced down the prominent staff on the cover, a glistening snake circled around it, fangs bared.

It wasn't the staff or snake that made Blackwall laugh gruffly. "Do you want to read it?"

Dorian's fingers were now traveling over the shadowed image behind the staff. In the image, the staff was held out by a dark haired mage. The mage's other arm curled around the waist of a bearded, burly warrior; gripping him just as tightly as the snake did the staff. Dorian tapped at the mage's second hand, pressed to the center of the warrior's bare chest.

"I might. Just how interesting did you find it?"

Blackwall opened his mouth to answer, but only one word came out. "Very."

"I wouldn't want to deprive you of reading it yourself, then." Dorian laughed, flipping through the book, "No diagrams? I'm disappointed. I could add those for you, if you wished." He pressed the book back into Blackwall's hands, holding for a split second longer than necessary. "Or perhaps you'd prefer a demonstration?"

"No." Blackwall felt the word come out more violently than he'd intended.

"Oh not by me, I was thinking more along the lines of the Iron Bull? Two strong warriors-"

"Dorian," Blackwall growled, cutting him off.

"I do like when you say my name. Much better than 'that mage'," Dorian's smile was teasing. He stepped back towards the stallion's stall, opening the gate. "Do let me know when you finish it. I would be very interested to discuss any thoughts you might have."

Dorian led the magnificent animal out into the sunshine, heading towards the pasture Dennet's newly cleared pasture.

"Oh, and one more thing," he called over his shoulder, "if you see Varric, tell him I'd like to speak to him please."

Blackwall didn't answer as he watched them go. He felt as if he'd just eaten one of Sera's cookies himself. His stomach had an unsettled feeling, much as it did anytime Sera fed him something. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and settled back down, thumbing to the page he'd been on when Dorian had startled him. Ah, here it was. Just getting to the good part. They could make fun of Cassandra all they wanted, but that Varric did have a way with words.


	2. A Rude Awakening

Dorian's eyes flew open at the incessant pounding. At his door. His _open _door. The gall.

"Would you stop that at once, you bewhiskered barbarian. I shall..." Dorian stumbled for a word. It was too early and he'd been up too late, and damn if every window in the room wasn't wide open to the sun. If he wasn't so tired and didn't have such a aching head, he might've been able to appreciate the way the light danced about the room; gleaming shards of prismatic color, drifting, like so many magic snowflakes. Magic. That's what he needed. He would turn that hairy lummox... Wait, had he finished his insult yet? He bleared up at the muscled man leaning in the doorway. Always leaning, damn the bearded bastard. As if he knew how good he looked. Which, of course, he didn't. Blackwall was never self aware about those sort of things.

"Just what is the meaning of this?" Blackwall stopped his assault on the door frame to hold up a wooden box. "I take it you left these for me?"

"Ahhhh, yes. Varric told me you'd been asking after something... of that nature."

Now that he was awake, Dorian stretched in bed, relishing the way Blackwall's eyes glanced away to the side when he realized Dorian was nude under the bedclothes. This was a recent reaction. In the months he'd known the man, he'd learned Blackwall had no modesty or qualms about other men's bodies. He'd no fear of winning _or_ losing in wicked grace, never shied away from the game no matter how many times Josie literally beat the pants off someone. He was always the first one to strip and dive into the river; muck, slimy creatures and general nudity be damned.

But now... Dorian stretched again, letting the sheet fall strategically to his hips. Yes, Blackwall definitely looked away and blushed. It was adorable.

"I didn't-" Blackwall started.

"-Didn't want them, or didn't want them from me?" He feigned hurt.

"Maker's balls, I only asked Varric if he had any soap. That's it."

"Soap? You didn't have soap before this? I shudder to think what your baths consisted of. Scrubbing with hay?"

"I had soap, you damned fool. Just not..." he heaved a sigh, running a hand through his dark hair and mussing it more than usual, "ahh, fine. Varric's book made it sound as if it might be nice to bathe with something that doesn't leave your skin raw and red as a chapped nug in winter."

"Oh?" Dorian's eyes glimmered for a moment. "You don't like to be... raw?" He drawled out the word.

"Dorian." Blackwall's growl was a soft threat, and Dorian laughed.

"Yes, yes, fine. You asked Varric about soap, and soap you did receive."

"But.. what's this?" Blackwall took a bottle out of the box and held it up.

"Scented oil."

"But," Blackwall's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "What's it for?"

"For? Your hair, your skin, it's oil, Blackwall, it's not going to bite you. In fact, it would definitely help your skin from feeling... raw."

"Just oil? In Varric's book, they... well." Blackwall stopped, started again, "They used.. uh, well, to..." he stuttered to a halt.

"Ahhh. Yes, I see. No, it's just oil. You _could _use it for what you are thinking of. But I prefer to use something a little more like..." Dorian, reached to the side table, opening a drawer and letting his sheet fall completely away. He pulled out a different bottle, and held it up. "This."

Blackwall's eyes weren't shying away now, but he wasn't saying anything either. He just stood there, eyes roaming Dorian's golden skin. Suddenly it was Dorian who felt nude, and he pulled the sheet back to cover himself. He felt himself blushing for the first time in years. The room fell silent. Small motes of color still danced about the room from the stained glass, making the room feel otherworldly, magical. A magic he couldn't control.

"Blackwall?" The name slid into a question mark before he could stop it, so he twisted it the only way he knew how. "Lost the power of speech, I see. My beauty does tend to have that affect on people. A curse and a blessing." The burly man took a step towards the bed, but then stopped. Dorian could see a quick smile hidden by the man's beard. It confounded him.

"I... thank you for the soaps," Blackwall's voice was gruff, but soft. "I'm sorry for opening all the curtains and waking you so early. Would you like me to close them for you?"

"That would be nice," Dorian could hear the mirrored softness in his own voice, and pushed it away, "No civilized person should be awake at this hour. I suspect it must be late in the day for you."

There was no reply, and Dorian turned over in bed to see the door click shut. Blackwall was gone. But he'd taken the box of oils and soaps with him. Dorian's eyes shot to the side table. Taken them all, including the last one he'd taken out from the drawer.

"Well. My, my," Dorian thought to himself, and drifted back to sleep.


End file.
